


Rose-gold & Dawnstone

by ghoulaesthetics (astraielle)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Morning Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraielle/pseuds/ghoulaesthetics
Summary: "...His hand moved from her hair now, fingers lightly going over the curve of her ear and down her jaw, resting on the side of her neck as his thumb went over a cluster of three small freckles near the back. Now if he closed his eye, he could map out every spot, dot and scar, every slight soft curve, bony outline and muscle. She wasn’t going to wake up just from that, he knew–she always slept the heaviest after long travel, drawn to the bed by the promise of soft pillows and shared body heat. She’d rise on her own time and likely wouldn’t leave the bed until absolutely necessary."





	Rose-gold & Dawnstone

**Author's Note:**

> alternately: "i love you" "but what if i got a bowl cut"

He heard the rain before he opened his eyes. A soft rain, tapping hypnotically on the window panes of the Inquisitor’s quarters. It didn’t rain often at Skyhold, or at least, not as often as he knew she would have liked, and it was a pleasant sound to wake to. Doubly so with the knowledge that neither of them were needed anywhere today, or if they were, Isen had made it very clear the night before that whatever it was could wait. They’d been away from the fort for weeks, travelling mostly on foot through Emprise closing rifts and culling Red Templars.  _Exhausted_  didn’t even begin to cover the general state of everyone when they returned late yesterday evening. 

 The rain was a nice shift from the snow, and he found that it brought along memories of the Storm Coast with it. Not that Bull was particularly attached to the Coast, but it had been the first time he’d seen her with his own eye. It wasn’t  _love at first sight_ , definitely not, but she was… different, somehow, than he expected from Krem’s description.  _Small thing_ , he’d said when he returned from Haven,  _Dalish, pretty enough but you can tell she’s not used to the fighting or being Andraste’s figurehead. But she’s got the coin and she’s got the work. Looks like we might get something out of this whole Inquisition business after all, Chief._

  _Pretty had certainly been right,_ he thought as his gaze wandered over to her side of the bed. She’d shifted at some point during the night, rolled off of his chest and moved so that her head was resting on his bicep and her body was nestled close into his side with an arm slung partially across his torso. She was terminally chilled, even under blankets, and he was convinced that she’d seek out his furnace-like body heat even in a coma. Her breaths fell slow and even, and her face was the picture of serenity. With the arm that wasn’t currently being used as a headrest, he reached over and moved some of the stray pieces of russet hair behind an ear. 

Yes, Krem had been right to describe her as such, but the first thing he remembered on actually looking at her was that it wasn’t entirely accurate. There was something inexplicably  _sharp_  about her, something controlled and measured that pooled in her eyes when she looked at you that didn’t quite line up with just  _pretty_. Even then, when they’d discussed the verbal contract on the rocky beach, when the trappings of a leader didn’t quite fit her yet, he got the sense that she was going to do quite well with the Inquisitor’s title soon enough. Dripping wet from the grey weather, looking weary and small next to Cassandra and Vivienne, what she lacked in a natural leader’s charisma she made up for in presence. It was quiet, but the eyes of the Ben-Hassarath let him pick up on it almost instantly. She watched them all with restrained intensity, not fear as some people took it to be, and he’d met the gaze readily. She observed him on the Coast just as much as he’d observed her, and he liked the subtle brashness of it all. Nothing  _just pretty_ about it. 

(Of course, he’d never tell her that Krem ribbed him later for watching maybe a just little longer than normal, made some passing comment about _redheads_ and conveniently leaving that detail out of the description, or the fact that in the moments where he’d let his mind go quiet back then, the first place it usually wandered was back to that golden-eyed cool stare back on the Storm Coast.) 

His hand moved from her hair now, fingers lightly going over the curve of her ear and down her jaw, resting on the side of her neck as his thumb went over a cluster of three small freckles near the back. Now if he closed his eye, he could map out every spot, dot and scar, every slight soft curve, bony outline and muscle. She wasn’t going to wake up just from that, he knew–-she always slept the heaviest after long travel, drawn to the bed by the promise of soft pillows and shared body heat. She’d rise on her own time and likely wouldn’t leave the bed until absolutely necessary. 

He’d barely even had time to finish making his case for why the Chargers would be an asset to the Inquisition back then before she was already agreeing to hire them on. A snap decision, and while he wasn’t surprised that it was a  _yes_  in the first place, he found himself questioning just how she’d come to the conclusion so fast. She’d shrugged, wiping some of the raindrops from her brow.  _You come to Haven, end up helping, then it’s a sound investment. You come to Haven, end up dying or leaving or otherwise not contributing, then we’ve only lost funds and not actual Inquisition forces. I don’t really see a negative or a risk here_. The swiftness of the blunt reply had actually made him laugh out loud. Inexperienced but not stupid by any means, and the logic had a certain soundness to it that had made Cassandra shoot her a look and a slight shake of the head. Probably not the inspirational leader she’d hoped for, he figured, but at least she seemed to have the desire to get things done. 

Their first conversations at Haven couldn’t really even be considered as such. More like unsubtle examination and assessments, at least on her end. She’d had no issues admitting openly to him that she wasn’t used to dealing with people, and she wasn’t particularly gifted at it either, but she didn’t need to. It didn’t take a trained spy to realize that she was wary of everyone she met at Haven no matter who they were. Every conversation was simply a way for her to try and gauge where she stood, make note of who still wanted a knife in her back, and where the nearest exits were at all time.  _Like a feral cat, almost_ , he thought, watching her trying to move around the gathered faithful as unobtrusively as possible, failing and looking miserable for it every time. And he was hesitant to even call the lines she’d thrown his way back then earnest  _flirting_. She hadn’t honestly expected anything to come of it. It was still testing the waters, still watching and observing with that same look in her eyes. 

Of course, time and travel had changed that. By the time their base of operations had switched to Skyhold, she’d loosened up to a small group of people, him included. She found him to be genuinely funny, a few lines and puns making her laugh so hard tears leaked from her eyes, and he found that she could say the most bizarre and delightfully dry things without thinking. They had a good back-and-forth going verbally, much to the chagrin of anyone with the luck of standing around them too long. And the flirting had shifted too, morphed into something that signified genuine interest. Well-timed touches, deliberate looks, quiet words meant only for his ears-–she was far better at this than she initially let on. And not only did he allow it, he matched her step-for-step and  _encouraged_ it until he eventually found himself waiting for her on her own bed (Orlesian style back then, not quite as large as he would have liked, certainly nothing like the 'horn-accommodating-for-side-sleeping-Quinari' Par Vollen style she had now). The final nail in the coffin had been when he’d cornered her small frame against the wall, hands pinned above her head. She was standing on her toes, stretching, already breathing hard and _excited_ , eyes boring into his skull with that same familiar intensity he’d become so accustomed to, except now it was mixed with lust and want and need.  _Do what you’re doing_ , she said, lips curling in a cocky smile that revealed the distinctly Elven pointed canines that had suddenly become so much more  _hot_  than he remembered, _Do what you’re doing, but a little faster, and_ much _harder_. 

That had been it. Any reservations that remained had withered away and died as the last word left her lips. He’d been sitting contently in denial before that moment, telling himself he’d had more control over the situation than he did, but she’d for sure gotten in his head with  _that_. He  _wanted_  her, and she wanted him to keep doing so. It wasn’t how he’d framed the physical relationship to her, naturally.  _This room is about Isen the person, not Isenril Lavellan the Inquisitor_ , he’d told her as she laid on the bed in the aftermath. It was true, but not the entire truth. The part of him that he’d sectioned off from the rest, the  _selfish_ part of him that was subconsciously breaking away more and more from the Qun each day–-it was about him too. It was another  _want_ , the want to be there, the want to touch her and draw sounds from her like he just now had as often as he could, to hold her down and do things her body couldn’t believe night after night and hear the reverent way she begged out his name in the middle of a babbled string of elvish and common and raked her little sharp nails down his back in pure ecstasy. 

He wondered if she could see through it back then, laid out languidly and warm, candlelight dancing off of her bare skin and tangled dark red hair and her still-prominent bones at the time, still watching him with those same liquid gold eyes, watching, watching,  _watching_. He’d already redressed completely by then, but he was sure he was the one who felt the most exposed. 

She wasn’t in his heart quite yet (or so he told himself). That part would come later, after four months of leaving her quarters before the sun was up every time, after watching the dreadnought get taken by the sea, watching his men retreat at the sound of the alarm and becoming fully Tal-Vashoth (on  _her_  orders, no less–-faced with the choice, with the consequences on both ends, he found himself practically frozen with it all and was almost glad that there was someone to defer it to. And even more glad that this was before she’d been lectured about  _political power_  and  _alliances_ and she was the sort of person to save a friend over military power. She looked like she’d wanted to club Gatt over the head the entire time, and good manners were the only thing that stopped her. The uncharacteristic harshness on her tongue directed towards his former colleague wasn’t lost on him, despite most of the day feeling like a haze). 

And of course, he couldn’t  _really_  say that she was his until they’d watched that first dragon breathe its last. That had been a good day indeed. A Ferelden Frostback, in the valley just behind one of the camps. It was a damn  _good_  fight, enough to have the blood and adrenaline rushing hard underneath his skin, the dragon’s roars reaching near-deafening levels but not enough to drown out his laughter at he hacked away at it. They’d walked away sweaty and filthy but feeling absolutely _electric_  after the fact. She shot him a manic grin after, she wanted to do that  _again_ she said, the look in her eyes wild and positively sparkling with pure glee, and it took everything in him to remind himself that as much as he’d wanted to take her right then and there at that moment, Vivienne and Blackwall would probably greatly disapprove of that. 

He wasn’t sure when exactly she’d got ahold of its tooth during all of that–-maybe after, she’d wandered back to the kill site on her own that night-–but the Frostback’s tooth had been carefully split down the middle, inlaid with rose-gold and dawnstone, and it was the first time he’d ever seen her genuinely bashful when doing anything. It was a good memory, undeniably sweet in spite of the fact that they’d had to banish their audience before she could get on with the actual gift giving. The kiss after might’ve been the best part, though. It was somehow different than all the others they’d shared up until that point. Slower, more deliberate maybe. She’d cradled his face in her slender hands, pulled back and looked at him as though she was looking at the entire universe. It made his heart jump now even just thinking about it, and every time he remembered he was carrying his half of the token. It was too large for her to carry on her person, and so most of it sat on her desk in the corner. Instead, she had a small piece of the middle removed and attached to a sturdy chain around her neck that hardly ever came off.  _Close to the heart,_  she laughed when he asked if she wore it under all her clothes. _Right where it belongs_.

The memories played through his mind chronologically, almost like a dream, getting caught under his ribs and pooling warmth in his chest. He hadn’t stopped brushing his thumb over that same spot either, lost in thought and considering the merits of giving in to sleep once more.  He was pulled out of weighing the pros and cons of it by her stirring slightly, exhaling through her nose as she started to wake. Her eyes cracked open, the world coming into focus as she tried to blink the bleariness away. She blinked hard once more, and then smiled lazily as she caught his gaze. “Morning,” she said quietly, voice still clinging to sleep. The hand that was laying on his chest moved to grab his own hand currently resting on her face. She moved it slightly, fingers closing gently around as much of his wrist as they could, and placed three slow kisses near the base of his palm. “’time is it?” she mumbled from behind his hand. 

“Early,” he said warmly. “Pretty sure we’d have beat out the sun, if we could see it.” She was up now, more or less, and he didn’t feel bad about shifting their position. Slowly, with all the effort of a man who knew he wasn’t needed outside of this room, he rolled onto his side to face her better, the small mountain of pillows and hole in the headboard allowing for it. She went easily into the pillows as he moved, settling back in with her forehead pressed to his collarbone once he’d settled. 

“ _Mmph_ , stupid body,” she muttered, lips brushing against bare skin as she formed the words. “I wanted to get a few more good hours, at least.” 

“You’ll live through it,” he chuckled, snaking both arms around her and pulling her even closer. There was little chance of cuddle-induced discomfort–-even with her newly gained muscle tone, she still weighed practically nothing to him, which was a blessing considering she liked to pass out on his limbs. He hadn’t experienced the internal dilemma of numb arms versus leaving your lover undisturbed, a small mercy. Bull found himself idly following the lines of her body once more. This time, her spine and shoulder blades underneath the loose cotton shift she wore to bed. Her skin felt warm and alive, and she sighed pleasantly, curving into the touch. 

“Might live through it, doesn’t mean I can’t complain about it,” she grumbled. 

He liked how her accent got during the mornings-–deeper, more rolling than her usual lilting tone during the day when she was more concerned with pronunciation. Varric once spent an hour in the Emerald Graves trying to place it after she’d told him she’d been born in the Free Marches like he was. When she’d had her fill of being amused at his inability to guess, she finally confessed that it was from growing up in a travelling Dalish clan that insisted on using elvish as a first language, a father who came from a completely different clan with its own dialect, learning common from all of them plus the occasional Orlesian merchant looking for trade, and spending almost all of her life past the age of eight in Ferelden. The result was something that was beautiful if not slightly strange, and nearly impossible to place. It got thicker when she was tired or when she reached the drinking stage of ‘sleepy drunk’, and he’d taken an immense liking to it. It was also a very good indicator that she was completely relaxed, another pleasant thing that was becoming more of a rarity as the Inquisition went on. 

“How lucky for you that you’ve given yourself the day off then, huh? Unlimited access to naps for the rest of the day to make up for it,” he teased, feeling her laugh softly against him. 

“Hmm, lucky indeed,” she said with a quiet smile, “Must be that whole ‘mage foresight’ thing they warned you about.” She’d started placing soft kisses on his chest as her sentences paused, inching slowly, slowly up until she’d reached his neck, lingering there as she lazily kissed his jaw. He sighed contently, eye closed, tilting his head back slightly, happy enough to let her continue as she reached up to lay her hand on the side of his face. It was a small gesture, one reserved for private moments. A soft, subtle showing of love and intimacy he’d come to treasure and crave.  _I can’t… hold you as much as I’d like. Arms too short, nowhere near tall enough, all that_ , she explained shyly as she stood before where he was seated on the bed in the breath before the kiss, hands on either side of his jaw, eyes closed, fingers shaky but sure as she pressed her forehead against his.  _But I can do this. Holding the thing I love most in my hands, as best I can. I can do this_. 

He couldn’t have formed a complete sentence in that moment even if he’d tried. 

At present, she’d moved on again from his jaw to the rest of his face, mapping out old scars with her lips, lingering near the rougher areas around the missing eye (the eyepatch was all but completely forgotten if it was just them–-it was never something he was embarrassed by, per se, but the awareness he felt at having his bare face completely showing had dissipated quickly enough. The consistent touching and positive reinforcement definitely helped) mumbling quiet words in elvish he mostly didn’t catch but knowing enough to pick out  _ar lath ma, vhenan_  several times over. It sounded almost lyrical against the rain. In crawling up to kiss him, she’d wiggled out of his arms more or less, and now he rested his one hand in her thigh, moving in slow circles, while the other arm had circled around her lower back. 

“ _Kadan_ ,” he breathed as she finally made it down to his mouth. It was an unhurried kiss, slow and languid as they moved against each other’s lips, tongues moving deliberately in practised motions. Stale breath was decidedly less of an issue for her than she initially thought months ago, the promise of early-morning affection being too good to pass up. (And while he definitely wouldn’t stop her if she wanted to chew on some of her mint leaves before they continued [a morning habit for her that he still found somewhat odd, even after a few years] it would be disappointing to break the moment so early.)

When she finally pulled back, he was cradling the back of her head in one hand, lightly running his fingers over her scalp. She was beaming quietly as he turned his head slightly and kissed the palm that lingered on his face, returning the first gesture of the morning. She looked a little bit more alert now, a little less blinky than before, but still ready to spend the day lazing about. “Feels a little bit more beardy than usual,” she observed, brushing her knuckles gently over his cheek. 

“I can shave it later,” he offered, turning into the touch slightly. 

She shook her head as best as she could. “Only if you want to. Looks good on you, though. I like it.” Ducking her head forward with a small smile, she pressed her lips to the side of his mouth. “Of course, I might be biased–-I like everything about you.” 

“Definitely biased,” he agreed, but sounded pleased nonetheless. “Might put that to the test though–-what if I started wearing a bowl-cut wig?”

She dissolved into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, hiding her face in his neck as her shoulders shook. “Don’t you  _dare_ ,” she laughed. “I love you dearly and you hold the other half of my heart, but if you do that I might just have to publically denounce you. Nothing personal, of course.”

“And they say there’s no such thing as true love,” he quipped, grinning. 

When she finally gained control over herself, she pulled back so she could lie and face him comfortably once more. The arm she was half-laying on fit in the space between them, fingers splayed on his collarbone, occasionally tapping out a tuneless rhythm. Her other hand reached up, resting open-palmed with her thumb near the back of his ear. He’d gone back to having both arms wrapped loosely around her body, one hand resting in the middle of her back. For a moment, all that could be heard was the even sound of the rain against the glass. 

“So,” he finally said, “plans for today,  _Lady Inquisitor_?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled as she answered. “Well,  _Ser Iron Bull_ , I believe you’re already looking at them–stay here, listen to the rain, sleep, eat, cuddle, sex, and talk you out of a faux bowl-cut. For some reason.” 

He laughed at that, loud and rumbly as he drew their heads together, kissing her mouth and face as she fell into giggles once more. Whatever they were, whatever they had been, he couldn’t call it irrelevant, but it certainly didn’t matter in this moment. 

“Sounds like a date to me.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> once again kiana/@galpalaven is out here enabling my fluff cravings for these two with a kiss prompt, "Morning kisses, waking up and pressing kisses to bare shoulders, basking in the sunlight streaming through the windows, pausing to let your gaze caress your lover’s face, unlined and unworried as they sleep, and then watching their eyes slowly open as they rouse, and seeing them smile as their eyes focus on you, the first thing they see that day" which kiiiind of got away from me but? whatever whatever it's all good anyway. checked over for errors by myself & a machine, but i'm sure i'll pick up on new ones and correct them over the next few days myself. 
> 
> enjoy~


End file.
